So what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test... for Sam and Dean. And I think they did all right. Up against, Good, Evil, angels, devils, Destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kinda the whole point? No doubt - endings are hard. But then again... nothing ever really ends, does it?

Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There's always gonna be holes. And since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass.

In between jobs, Sam and Dean would sometimes get a day - sometimes a week, if they were lucky. They'd pass the time lining their pockets. Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother. They could go anywhere and do anything. They drove a thousand miles for an Ozzy show. Two days for a Jayhawks game. And when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars... for hours... without saying a word. It never occurred to them that, sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls but they were never, in fact, homeless.

Castiel: It's starting.Dean: Yeah, you think, genius?Castiel: You don't have to be mean.Dean: So, what do we do now?Castiel: I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol... just wait for the inevitable blast wave.Dean: Yes, well, thank you, Blutarsky.

The Impala, of course, has all the things other cars have... and a few things they don't. But none of that stuff's important. This is the stuff that's important. The Army man that Sam crammed in the ashtray--it's still stuck there. The Legos that Dean shoved into the vents. to this day, heat comes on, and you can hear 'em rattle. These are the things that make the car theirs. Really theirs. Even when Dean rebuilt it from the ground up, he made sure all these little things stayed. 'Cause it's the blemishes that made her beautiful.

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Dean: Where's Cass?Chuck: He's dead. Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him. I'm sorry.Dean: You're sure? I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something.Chuck: Oh, no. He exploded. Like a water balloon of chunky soup.